Lone Wolf, a Retelling
by Z-1911
Summary: Noble Six is alone, stuck on Reach, and given one objective: Survive. One shot;Reviews are appreciated, especially since this is my first submission. If there's an inaccuracy, please let me know so I can edit.


August 30th, 2552; Azsod, Reach

Leutenant Bravo-Three-Twelve, Noble Six

Mission: Lone Wolf

Objective: Survive

With a sigh, the Spartan III held a death grip on his Submachine-Gun, feeling his finger move in and out of the trigger guard as he so often did when nervous. He he had every right to be, after all, he was alone out here in Reach; doomed to fight his final fight. His secondary, a magnum, hung loosely from his side as he made his way for the approaching covenant ship- no, as he made his way for his fast approaching destiny. With a grunt, he pushed off the ground, activating his jetpack. While he flew, thoughts of Norse mythology crossed his mind, his thought process focusing on the idea of Valhalla, where only the bravest of warriors would go. _The rest of Noble team are probably already there, if it exists,_ he thought, grimly reminiscing.

With a grunt as he landed, Six switched out his jetpack chip for the sprint function; he'd likely need it for the oncoming horde. With a silent prayer to whatever God would listen, Six took his gun off safe, seeing several covenant grunts marching on their way towards his location. Fury welled up within him, and with a roar as he sprinted across the desolate landscape, Six knew he had sealed his own fate. "Come and get some you ugly sons of mothers! Come and feel the wrath of the last Spartan III! Come over here and let him offer his guests a heaping, helping serving of hot lead!" Holding his SMG at ease, Six drew his magnum, already aiming for the closest covenant soldier.

 _ **Crack!**_

Through either sheer luck, excellent aim, impressive manufacturing, or a combination of those three things, the Grunt fell, its comrades freaking out over their loss. _Good, Six thought. They're starting to get a grip on how I felt._ His aim switched to another grunt.

 _ **Crack!**_

He switched to another.

 _ **Crack!**_

And another.

 _ **Crack!**_

And one more.

 _ **Crack!**_

He managed to drop one more, but as he pulled the magnum's trigger on the seventh one, the gun made a hollow _Click!_ , indicating to Six that he was empty. With a groan, he tossed the magnum to the side, gripping his SMG tightly as he once again sprinted towards the enemy. His motion tracker told him he was being surrounded, and Six stopped, looking around. A ring of covenant soldiers had surrounded him. Some had needlers, some had energy swords, and some had plasma pistols.

"So," began Six. "I'm boned, am I?" One of the grunts, an Elite with an energy sword, smirked. "Oh, royally." Six, too, found himself smiling. "Then I'm going to enjoy this." Drawing his knife from the sheath on his breastplate, Six chucked it at the nearest grunt, dashing to the left, shoulder tackling an elite. With a heavy roar, Six lifted the soldier up from behind, throwing a left cross to its neck, a loud _Snap!_ heard as the struggling elite suddenly turned into limp weight. If the statistics constantly running in Spartan HUD's are to be believed, from the drawing of the knife to snapping of the elite's neck, it was exactly 63 miliseconds. It took about 75 miliseconds for the grunts to start firing.

Thinking desperately, Six held the corpse up as a shield, firing his SMG one handed at the soldier to his left. With a _**Ratatatata**_ , it dropped to the floor. Heavily grunting, he threw the corpse he was holding up across at another elite, picking up the most recent corpse's needler. With an SMG in one hand and a needler in the other, he opened fire on the remaining ones, and when he ran out of ammo in his mags, he swung the SMG's barrel like a club at the grunt sneaking up behind him with an energy sword. Then, in a fluid motion, he flicked his other wrist, reloading the needler. When he ran out of needles, he emptied his hands and grabbed an energy sword off the ground.

14 seconds. That's how long it took to dispatch the group that encircled him. 14.001 seconds. That's how long it took for a sniper with a needle rifle to line up a headshot halfway across the wasteland. The needle found its mark, nestling within Six's visor, blocking out most sight. Groaning, Six pulled off his helmet, breifly seeing more and more blips on the cracked motion tracker appearing before he pulled his black scout helmet free of his head. He flung it aside, seeing the purple needle stuck in the cyan visor. Seeing an assault rifle on the floor, Six grabbed it, turning around. More and more covenant vehicles were approaching.

Right as he was taking aim, however, he heard the distinct sound of guns cocking and energy swords unsheathing themselves. 8 seconds. That is how long he held his ground. 8.004 seconds. That is how long it took before the hoard of grunts pinned him down, an elite among the group drawing an energy sword. The Spartan had fought bravely, but as the elite approached, Six was laughing.

"What... so funny, demon?" the elite asked with broken English. Six just smirked. "I forsaw this day, I just hoped it never happen. Yet, here we are." No words from the elite as it brought the sword through Six's chest. With his final gasp, he said: "Noble team..." he coughed as he felt his insides turned to hot air. "I'm coming, guys..."

August 30th, 2552; Azsod, Reach

Leutenant Bravo-Three-Twelve, Noble Six;MIA

Mission: Lone Wolf;Compromised

Objective: Survive;Compromised


End file.
